


Derek and the Doxie Dame: The one where she takes over everything

by CupcakeGirlA



Series: Derek and the Doxie Dame [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Lonely Derek Hale, Puppies, This is all sterekboberek's fault. Dammit Brii., dachshund puppy, puppy cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeGirlA/pseuds/CupcakeGirlA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn't INTEND to adopt the dachshund puppy he finds shivering in a wet cardboard box. But somehow it happens anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derek and the Doxie Dame: The one where she takes over everything

**Author's Note:**

> Sterekboberek made me write this. She spammed me until I gave in. Blame her.

It’s the whimper that first catches his attention, but it’s the tiny little bark that keeps it. 

All Derek had intended to do was to take out the trash, not reluctantly adopt a puppy. But if there is one thing Derek has come to firmly believe after a lifetime of some truly fucked up shit, it’s that his intentions rarely factor into fate’s design. Sometimes, most of the time, he’s just along for the ride.

Derek lifted the lid on the dumpster, watching left over rain water from earlier that day slush off the top lip to splash against the brick wall of his building. He tosses in his trash bag, breath carefully held to avoid breathing in the ever present smell of rotting food and molding paper. It’s bad enough that the smell will likely cling to his clothes for the next hour or two, he doesn’t want it up his nose too. He lets the dumpster lid slam closed and turns to make his way back inside when he hears it. 

It’s a tiny little sound, one a human would likely not have even heard. But it stops Derek in his tracks, makes him tune his hearing up a few notches to locate the source. He finds her curled up, small and damp in the half collapsed corner of a soggy cardboard box. She’s shivering and filthy, but he can hear quiet breaths, and the so quick beating of her little heart. He almost turns away but she makes another little whimpering sound in her sleep, a shiver wracking her frame and he just can’t leave her there to die. She’s just a puppy after all. 

He crouches down to see her better, wincing at the nasty puddle he ends up putting his knee down into when his attention is focused more on her than himself. He braces one hand against the wet concrete and bends closer. Which is of course when her eyes snap open, big and brown, and so… adorable? Derek mentally shoves the word away. There is no way he is getting attached. He’s not keeping her! But then she shifts, uncurling and Derek thinks she’s moving into his reaching hand. But she surprises him. Instead she barks harshly at the offending fingers, and darts forward and nips at the fleshy pad at the base of Derek’s thumb. He pulls his hand back quickly, eyes narrowing, even as the small stinging bite almost immediately heals up. She’s glaring at him, instead of backing down in reaction to his presence. Her head is down, her hair standing on end, and her teeth are bared.

Derek’s actually a little impressed by the display in a puppy so small and young. So he bends closer, flashing his red alpha eyes, and baring his teeth right back at her. 

He expects her to cower in fear, showing her belly in answer. Instead she starts to look sort of confused, her butt coming down as she sits up straighter, her head cocking to the side in interest. He lets out a little growl and she blinks at him once before going pliant and limp and sort of flopping over onto her back, tongue lolling out of her mouth when she yawns. 

Derek’s brow furrows and he reaches out and scoops her up, her tiny body fitting easily into one hand. He pulls her to his chest to lend her some warmth. She looks up at him with such an intelligent expression that he finds himself smiling at her, even as sharp claws slice through his shirt and tiny pin pricks of pain burst across his chest. Her head presses strangely heavy where she lays it over his heart. 

Upstairs Derek finds a box, the deep one his last pair of boots came in and an old t-shirt to line it with. He grabs up his leather jacket, the black one he currently favors, and his keys. It’s a good thing he knows a vet that keeps late hours. 

It’s just his luck that Scott’s still there. 

Derek expects teasing or an eye roll at least. But he gets neither, just a welcoming smile that wouldn’t have been possibly 8 months before, and a look of… happy pride? when Derek explains why he’s there. 

“Dr. Deaton should be done with his last patient in a few minutes. I’ll go ahead and take you back to Room B.” He leads Derek back to your standard exam room, flipping on the light, and letting Derek step inside first. He steps up to the metal table, and sets down the box, opening the lid carefully only to find the puppy lying on her side, scarily still, eyes closed. 

Derek has a moment of pure blind panic, heart thumping wildly in his chest as he freezes in place. But the dog seems to come awake all at once, big brown paws stretching and flexing against grey cotton and eyes blinking up at Derek with obvious recognition. Her long black tail thumps once, twice, against the bottom of the box, before she sits up, pawing at the wall of cardboard closest to Derek. 

“Awww…” Scott says quietly and Derek’s eyes shoot up to his face, again expecting a teasing or mocking expression. Instead Scott’s attention is completely on the puppy. “She’s just a baby! A dachshund I think,” he explains reaching for her. The puppy shies away, scrabbling at the cardboard in Derek’s direction with a frantic fear that makes Derek’s stomach clench in reaction. 

Scott scoops her up with a practiced hand, checking her over carefully, gently, despite her cries and whimpers and constant wiggling. He flips her over checking her visually and pressing gently here and there. 

“She definitely a girl. She looks pretty healthy to me, but Dr. D will want to look her over too. Just to make sure. You found her in a dumpster?” Derek nods than shrugs. 

“Well next to one. She was in a cardboard box in the alley outside my building.” 

“Poor puppy. I think she’ll probably be ok. Seems lively enough,” Scott ruffs up the fur on the middle of the puppy’s back and then sets her down on the table. He laughs at the way she wiggles out from under his hand and makes her way slip sliding across the metal table to Derek. She flops down there, pressing her back to Derek’s stomach where it’s pressed to the edge of the table. She rolls in place to lay tummy up, butting her head into his t-shirt and wiggling into his fingers when they come to scratch her belly. 

“Well she definitely knows who the alpha is,” Scott teases even as he turns away. Derek frowns down at her, using his other hand to shield her body from view. He can still smell her panicked fear though it’s fading quickly. That’s when Deaton comes in. 

By the time they’re done with her, the poor puppy’s been physically poked and prodded, had her nails clipped, her ears and eyes checked, her temperature taken, and her blood drawn. That’s followed by a series of shots and a treat for being such a “good girl.” 

Derek’s eventually shoved out the door with a sleeping puppy in a box, a list of supplies to buy, California state canine registration papers to fill out and a schedule for her next three follow-up appointments, all without any idea how this became his life. 

It’s late and the local pet store isn’t open 24 hours, so he takes her home, only marginally surprised to find the loft empty, Isaac not yet back. He gives the puppy a bath in the kitchen sink, dries her off with a too big towel, cracks opens the starter package of puppy food Deaton hand stuffed into his pocket, fills a plastic Chinese takeout container (freshly washed) with water, and sets her box down at the end of his bed to act as her make shift doggie bed. 

Then he sits down and stares at her while she sits in her box and stares back at him. 

“Well, looks like you’re staying for a bit. Which means you’re going to need a name. Any ideas?” he asks. She just blinks at him, tilts her head to the side again, and then opens her mouth in a tiny yawn, relaxing back down into her t-shirt nest, her head resting on her front paws, eyes slowly blinking closed. Derek watches her for a few minutes before stripping off his shirt, checking the door and then climbing into bed to sleep. 

It’s a few hours later, the apartment dark and quiet that he hears her. She’s crying, whimpering, tiny nails scratching at cardboard. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes and getting up to check on her. She quiets a little when she sees him looking down at her. He reaches down to rub his fingers across the smooth black fur of her head, watching her eyes close under the motion like she’s savoring the contact. 

“Go back to sleep,” he says simply, pulling his hand away. She whines and starts to cry again, and Derek feels himself caving, tries to talk himself out of it, and ends up picking her up and taking her to bed with him. “Just this once,” he promises himself. He falls back to sleep with her curled up along the line of his chest, her tiny head using his left bicep like a pillow. Derek tries to ignore the comfort having her there brings. 

Isaac’s still not home in the morning, but Derek has a few late night texts on his phone telling him he’s gone to Scott’s for the night. He wakes up on his back with the puppy curled up in his armpit, nose buried there, and still sleeping. He leaves her there, easing away to go take a much needed shower. He closes the door out of habit, turning on the shower so his ancient pipes can start to funnel the hot water up to his apartment. He’s just finished brushing his teeth when he hears the sharp loud bark, from the other side of the door. He spits out a mouth full of water and toothpaste, and yanks open the door. She trots inside like she owns the place, plopping down on the ratty bathroom rug and staring up at him. Derek rolls his eyes, closing the door and reaching over to check the water temperature. 

He undresses as usual, her presence practically unnoticed as he steps over the low lip of the shower stall. It’s only when he feels a small delicate lick across the top of his ankle that he looks down and sees her. She’s sitting drenched but happy between his feet, licking water droplets off the inside arch of his foot, and wagging her little tail. Derek finds himself laughing loudly and without restraint for the first time in what feels like years. He finishes his shower, stepping carefully to avoid squashing her where she sits under his feet. 

Once they’re both dry Derek dresses and deposits her back in her box for the trip to the pet store. 

It seems like days before he’s finished shopping. He spends over $200. But he gets her everything she could possibly need: A crate with a water bottle and a cushion, a doggy bed, water and food bowls, toys, food, treats. He gets puppy bones for her teeth, and toe nail clippers. He gets her a collar and a leash, and when the salesperson insists, a back harness so the leash won’t tug on her neck, and hurt her fragile dachshund spine, and when he further explains, Derek finds himself buying twos sets of puppy stairs, one for his bed, and one for his couch. 

It’s surreal how much he buys, how much she needs. But it’s only as the cashier is ringing him up that he realizes she still doesn’t have a name. 

“She’s such a cutie!” the girl says smiling at the puppy, who is looking at her distrustfully. “Have you bought her tags yet, Mr….” she trails off, eyeing him up and down. 

“Hale. And no. Not yet,” he shifts the puppy in his arms, and the dog shuffles around, until she has her head resting on his shoulder, her butt nestled into the crook of Derek’s arm. She huffs in his ear. 

“Oh you should! She needs to have a tag with her name and your phone number and address on it. So if she gets lost and someone finds her they know who to contact. You do have a name for her don’t you?” she asks, ringing up a package of tennis balls, and a squeaky squirrel. Derek frowns. 

“Not yet,” he replies again. She smiles brightly, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Well we have the tag maker 5000 over there,” she nods to a big machine by the exit, which looks like some sort of oversized arcade game. “It’s super easy to use. It’ll engrave her a custom tag like super fast!” Derek nods, watching her scoop the last of his bags back into the cart. He honestly doesn’t know if it will all fit in his car trunk or not. “That’ll be $259.64. Do you want to join our frequent shopper club? For just 15 dollars you’ll get a one year subscription, and it’ll take 5% off of every purchase and 10% off all our pet shop grooming services. Your purchase today will basically cover the cost.” Derek finds himself sighing and nodding a bit reluctantly. 

Which is how he finds himself staring at a tiny computer screen on the side of the tag maker 5000, flipping through the various options. He settles on a black bone shaped tag. He puts in his cellphone number, name, and the address of the loft, but finds himself staring at the blinking cursor for the puppy’s name, unsure what to put down. 

“Billy Lucas Anderson! You put that down right now!” a woman screams from somewhere to his right. Derek turns to look just in time to see boy who looks to be about 5 or 6 dropping a glass fishbowl. The sound of glass breaking fills the pet store, followed by running store employees and the child’s bright, thankfully unhurt, laughter. 

That causes the puppy to perk up on his shoulder, tiny wet nose pressing up under Derek’s ear, a tiny little bark escaping her throat. 

“Seriously?” he asks her. She just presses closer, small tail wagging against his arm, snuffling into the curve of his neck. Derek closes his eyes and sighs. “Ok,” he says, opening his eyes and typing in her new name, “Willie it is.” The machine spits out his receipt, and his credit card, and he steps away from it to wait while it does its thing. 

Willie seems to wake up a little then, and he spends the five minutes it takes to engrave her new tag, scratching the underside of her chin, and ignoring the cooing looks men and women alike keep shooting in his direction. 

He tries not to roll his eyes when the tag the machine spits out is a pale pink shaped heart and not a coal black dog bone. Just perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 in a series. This is going to be slow going. But I'll definitely add more to it.


End file.
